


Just radiate gay energy (like a supernova)

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is an ancient monstrous being who is too gay for this conversation, Badass Aziraphale, Gen, Homophobic Language, Ice Cream, Literary References, lgbt representation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 23:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19306480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: "You don't think that I know what I'm doing?" Aziraphale asked, his light tone not covering the cold depths of rage beneath, worse than the bottom of the oceans.In which Aziraphale, Principality and part-time rare book dealer, absolutely knows and owns that he is The Southern Pansy.





	Just radiate gay energy (like a supernova)

“This pansy doesn’t even know how gay he seems,” a voice said when Aziraphale passed by in the park, causing him to stop in his tracks. He looked at the young man who’d spoken, making sure that he wasn’t talking about anyone else. And indeed, the man was even gesturing at Aziraphale with a look of distain on his face.

Aziraphale turned around to face him with a smile. It was the same smile that he'd worn when Victor Hugo had kissed his hand, charm personified to the point where people of all genders became deeply distracted.

Aziraphale looked well-dressed, if rather threadbare on a daily basis. He had spent the morning peacefully unwrapping some new books he’d found stacked underneath a table, which turned out to be some first edition Mary Oliver poetry collections and a very well-preserved copy of Virginia Woolf’s _To the Lighthouse_. It had been a delightful little discovery, leaving him feeling bold enough to visit his manicurist after putting the books away and asking for a soft pink polish on his nails instead of the usual clear one. Above all, Aziraphale looked approachable, with his fluffy hair and softness. People gravitated towards him like planets to a warm sun.

But now there was something in his eyes, something off and whispering about a carpet of hundreds of unblinking eyes and wheels of fire and terrifying wings that could carry you at light speed.

 For a split second, the being in front of him looked not just old but ancient.

"You don't think that I know what I'm doing?" Aziraphale asked, his light tone not covering the cold depths of rage beneath, worse than the bottom of the oceans. It was the exact same tone he’d used all those years ago in the middle of a ballroom in Bath, where he’d gone to do a few miracles and drink some very good Madeira wine. That tone alone had alarmed a famous rake to the point where he’d left the country, which had pleased Jane Austen so much that winked at Aziraphale from across the ballroom.

He had sat down beside a very grumpy Arthur Conan Doyle on a sofa in a very discreet gentleman’s club in London, where Aziraphale once spent some quality time alone with Oscar Wilde.

He’d taken a boat to Finland for a very memorable trip indeed to a little island for the summer to get some peace and quiet after spending years on end making sure that female authors who wrote of monsters and lighthouses and published under a pseudonym became successful instead of ignored due to sheer folly.

The young man did not take a step back, but instead made a small sound in the back of his throat.

All around them, the park had stopped. Blades of grass no longer moved; the birds had fallen silent. And every single human being was looking at them, perfectly still. As you are when you sense a monster in your midst.

Not that they were looking at the gentleman with the tartan bowtie and vintage cream umbrella.

They were looking at the man in front of him, who had gone the color of whey on a bad day when the farmer had woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

"I know what I am," Aziraphale said, his feet steady on the ground as he twirled the umbrella. "Believe me, I do."

"Right," the man stammered, already turning on his heel. "Yes. I think I'll just-"

"Leave?" Aziraphale suggested. "Indeed."

The man left so fast that the dust on his shoulders still remained in the air.

"Are you all right, sir?" asked a young woman with a rainbow bandanna around her neck.

"He wasn't bothering you, was he?" asked another woman, who was wearing a matching bandanna and a matching engagement ring.

"You just let us know," said a dashing individual with a kid on his shoulders.

"I'm quite all right," Aziraphale said, wriggling a little bit to pull himself together. "Thank you for your concern."

The park began moving again as Aziraphale hurried to his usual bench, where Crowley was just sitting down with two kinds of frozen treats in his hands.


End file.
